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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341753">Scraped Knees</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilksteak/pseuds/miilksteak'>miilksteak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:21:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilksteak/pseuds/miilksteak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie has been saving up months to finally obtain what he's been wanting for years; a skateboard. In the process of learning how to skate, Richie rekindles an old friendship with someone he hasn't talked to in over a year, Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie soon learns that some things hurt more than scraped knees and bloody palms. Falling in love with someone you didn't expect to fall in love with. </p><p> </p><p>------</p><p>Short Story. Richie's POV. Teenage Reddie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Most kids in town would probably say that I have a crumby deal washing dishes at King’s. Sure, it’s disgusting and I can almost never completely get the grease off the pans no matter how hard I scrub, but it pays real well. The management isn’t great, but really what place has good management? There are at least a few cool bussers that work there. There’s a guy my age, Bill, who I get on with pretty well. If it wasn’t for getting along with Bill so well I probably would have quit two weeks into employment. I’m not going to deny that after work I do come out smelling like a fishing boat, but every job has its downsides.</p><p>Well, that’s the truth. I have to deal with poor management, grease stained pots, and Thursday nights specials where you can get two lobster for the price of one. I swear, everyone in the entire state of Maine is at King’s on Thursday night specifically to make my night of washing dishes even more miserable than it already is. Even though the job isn’t the best, it does actually pay really well. Thirteen fifty an hour; that’s two dollars and fifty cents above the minimum wage here in Maine.</p><p>Almost the minute I turned 16 my mom started getting on my back about getting a job. She said I needed some structure in my life, even though I go to school all day every day except the weekend. I agreed, only because I thought having some extra money around would do some good. In fact, there was something I had been wanting for awhile now, but my parents always told me they wouldn’t be the ones to pay for a death trap that would surely make me break some part of my body. I doubt I’d break anything, but I see their point.</p><p><br/>
I’ve been saving up for a skateboard. Been wanting one ever since I was a kid, but my parents always rejected the idea. They thought it would be a waste of time. Maybe it will be, I’m not sure yet, but I just knew it was something I had to get a hold of sooner rather than later. So, here I am. Three months later after saving up, I have the skateboard. Went into the local skate shop and asked the owner to help me design a board since I had novice experience. The board is now sitting on the black pavement of the local elementary school as I stare down on the freshly cut grip tape that has already torn up my hand slightly.</p><p><br/>
I know it sounds kind of lame to be skating at your old elementary school, but I didn’t think I was ready for the skatepark. The school still provides enough flat ground to learn how to ride comfortably and plenty of options for tricks when I’m ready for that stage. I wasn’t worried. I only wish there weren’t so many people from school who lived around here who could hypothetically see me fall on my ass. I could identify at least three people’s apartments from the complex that lies directly across the street from the school. I just tried to focus on the fact that I have a real skateboard in front of my feet, not that somebody could easily be peering at me through their bedroom windows. Skating was the important part.</p><p><br/>
I picked up the board and relocated it in the correct location, nose first. I placed my left foot on the front of the board and felt it move slightly under my already beaten up pair of vans. I quickly adjusted my foot to get a better grip and hold the board down before slowly letting my right foot push me forward. The key was getting comfortable cruising first. I felt unsteady, unstable, and like the board could easily slip before me. Yet, I persisted and put both feet on the deck and cruised for a solid four feet before my right foot slid off to push two more times. The wheels were turning, and I was causing them to turn. I was riding a skateboard. I wasn't going to lie; I liked it. I liked it a lot. It was fun.</p><p><br/>
The confidence of being able to push the deck made me want to push what else I could do. I wanted to go at a faster speed. My right foot left the board and in one brave gust, I pushed harder than I had before. My deck flew from under me and I stumbled as it went off the nearby curb. I heard the trucks scrape up against the ground before rolling into the street. Damn it. I quickly ran into the road to retrieve it, irritating an oncoming driver, and brought it back to the flat pavement. I cracked my neck and put my foot back on the board. It’s alright. It’s all a part of the process, I reminded myself.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>“Shit!” Hitting the concrete ground wasn’t something I was regularly accustomed to. I’ve had my fair share of scraped knees after crashing my bike in the fourth grade, but it had been awhile since the skin on my palms stretched thin and exposed blood. I guess my eyes need to be more set on identifying pebbles when I skate. I picked up my glasses that had fallen after my body made contact with the ground.</p><p><br/>
I swear it came out of nowhere. I was finally starting to go fast, and I mean really fast, before I hit a pebble and hit the pavement with a large thud. The sweatshirt I was wearing didn’t have enough protection to keep my elbow from bruising and my hands from getting bloody. I felt embarrassed. I swiftly brushed my hands on my jeans before looking down at the damage I had done. I’d be fine, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. I popped the end of the deck and captured the nose with my hand that wasn’t currently bleeding. I had been out for nearly 4 hours and the sun was starting to set. It was time for me to go home. I let out a deep sigh and started towards the sidewalk where I saw a lady pushing a stroller while walking her dog.</p><p><br/>
“Richie!” I heard my name being called, but I couldn’t identify where it was coming from nor who was saying it. I didn’t want to see anyone I knew, especially after eating deep shit. I looked around for the perpetrator.</p><p><br/>
Eddie Kaspbrak was a nice guy. We used to be pretty good friends when we were younger, but we all know what happens when you reach middle school in high school. Sometimes you just drift apart. You get put in different classes and start wanting to sit with the new people you met in the new classes and just see less and less of each other. That’s what happened to Eddie and I. Still, I had no trouble in saying that he was a nice kid. I liked to think I understood him better than the other kids in our little group in elementary school, but who the hell knows. It wouldn’t matter now anyway, because I have no idea what he gets up to anymore.</p><p><br/>
I honestly forgot Eddie lived in this neighborhood. I don’t regularly explore the neighborhoods next to the elementary school, so it makes sense why I didn’t recognize some of the houses immediately. After seeing his face coming out of the egg shell painted door, everything was put into perspective quickly. I remember being a kid and waiting for him on the corner as he dashed across the street after saying goodbye to his mother. We used to hang out almost every day when we were eight, but I haven’t had an actual conversation with him since the start of ninth grade- roughly a year. He stuck a key into the door and turned it, then twisted the handle to make sure it was really locked.</p><p><br/>
“Oh, uh. Hey, Eddie!” I hollered back, waving my hand at him politely. There was no use in being mean to him. Just because we aren’t friends anymore doesn’t mean I’d be mean to him. I know he had it pretty rough growing up. A dead dad and an overbearing mother, that’s a recipe for disaster. Not that my family was one to be modeled after, but I know Eddie had a hard time. He smiled brightly at me and just for a moment, it felt like we were still kids, acting like nothing else mattered but having a good time. For a moment, it felt like we were still friends. I couldn’t help but smile back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ii</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Richie, what time are you off your shift tonight?” My mother asked from the kitchen as she absent mindedly cleaned the dishes from today’s lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten. I’ll be home before ten thirty,” I responded, pacing back in forth in my room. I was looking for the rest of my uniform. The only thing worse than being stuck in a crappy working position is the fact that the King’s management makes us dress up in silly uniforms. I only have to see customers when I pick up their dirty plates,  yet I’m still expected to wear a hat with a gigantic lobster on it. A hat that I currently cannot find. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hands grasped a giant pile of laundry and moved it to my bed and began searching through the monstrosity. The pile had most of the clothes I wear on a regular basis; faded jeans, oversized floral shirt , and worn out t-shirts. I wish I could say that I was allowed to wear those to work, but I was currently sitting in a white button up with an embroidered fish on it, tucked into khaki colored slacks with a belt. I felt ridiculous. This was the height of humility. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hat was found deep in the pile, in between a dirty sock and my gray sweatshirt. How it got there, I’m not sure. I didn’t question it, though. I just put it on my hand and grabbed my skateboard that was resting up against my bed. I’ve had the board for a little less than two weeks, but it’s already made my commute to work easier. Instead of having to walk 25 minutes to work, I can be there easily in 12. Who needs a car when you can just skateboard? Apparently, not me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My deck pushed up next to ribs as I walked through the house to get to the front door. I knew I was going to be a few minutes late after handling the lost hat fiasco. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, mom!” I called out, opening the front door and stepping out into the driveway. I threw my board down on the concrete ground and jumped on with ease. After a few days of trial and error, I have finally become comfortable enough to jump onto the board while it’s moving. It’s an exciting thing; I feel like I’m making progress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My wheels carried the board from off the sidewalk to the street. I let my right foot slide off and give me four large pushes towards the end of the block. The wind worked against my body and blew my overgrown curls to the back of my neck. I liked the feeling of going fast enough to the point where the only thing you could feel was the wind. My foot fell off once more, giving two additional pushes toward the downtown area. Cruising through downtown was honestly quite a peaceful experience. Old buildings that didn’t belong in the modern age gave the town a magical touch. It was truly breathtaking, going over the bridge and seeing Maine’s woodlands surrounding the entire city. I wouldn’t mind the small town charm of Derry if almost every single resident didn’t suck. There are roughly four people in this town who don’t suck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time I got to work, I was thoroughly upset at the fact that there were people already waiting for tables. It’s not even five yet, how can these people eat dinner this early? It was something that never failed to confuse me. I hopped off the moving board and popped the tail so that I could catch it. I walked up the steps that greeted customers and walked straight to the back, hopeful to not make eye contact with any of the many people I knew in the crowd of people. My calculus teacher was sitting in the back, staring up at the baseball game that was playing on TV. I wish I could cleanse the sight of my fourth period math teacher digging into a plate of mozzarella sticks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I went past the kitchen and to the back room where I began to clock in. My manager had his feet propped up on the table and didn’t acknowledge me as I time stamped my card. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie. The fridge needs to be cleaned. You’re bussing till seven, then move onto dishes. You’re closing with Bill tonight. Start getting the kitchen cleaned by 9:45. Got it?” Pete barked his orders at me without looking me in the eye. Typical for him to not acknowledge me unless he was giving me orders. Maybe if he said ‘hello’ to me once in a while I wouldn’t have such a problem with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it,” I nodded and made my way back to the kitchen. The fridge looked menacingly dirty and I was not looking forward to what was about to go down.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“9:45 Big Bill!” I yelled out from the sink, grabbing a rag that was soaking in cleaning products. I followed him out to the main dining area. There were a few lingering customers with a few more bites of food left on their table. I wish people wouldn't do that; linger around up until closing. Bill started collecting plates from the neighboring tables that were no longer being used by my customers and brought them to the back. I started wiping down the tables Bill had cleared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hostesses were counting their tips from the night and seemed awfully pleased with themselves. Lucky them. They don’t have to assist with the cleaning, they just have to stay until ten to make sure no one tries to come in. I gave the table I was one one more solid wipe down before hanging the rag across my shoulder. I walked over to the couple who were still hanging around, their plates still lingering with a half eaten platter of shrimp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi. Just to let you guys know, we’re going to be closing in fifteen minutes. Are you guys almost finished up here?” I ask as politely as I can, pushing my glasses further onto the bridge of my nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, we’re done.” The man explains, clearly writing me off and not caring that we were in the process of closing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Can I get boxes for you guys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just take the plates,” The man didn’t even look at me. I swear, some people have never learned how to treat others with respect. I reach into their zone and stack one plate on top of another and bring them back to the kitchen where Bill has already begun scrubbing vigorously at the pile. I felt bad adding onto the pile, but it was a part of the job. I went over next to the sink to begin what Bill had already started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your shift been, man?” I asked Bill, my hands getting wet with the soapy water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“L-l-long,” stuttered Bill, laughing under his breath. I silently agreed with him, nodding my head to his response. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know what motivated me to get everything cleaned as fast as possible, but something certainly did. The place was wiped down, sanitized and cleansed by 10:16pm, a personal record for this staff. I said my goodbyes to Bill, clocked out and grabbed my board from the back. I wanted to get home as soon as possible and just fall asleep. Today’s shift was one of those kinds that just completely drain you. My deck hit the ground with a thud, my wheels moving slightly forward and I jumped on. It was fun skating this late at night because the town was still lit up by lights, but almost no cars were on the road so I could skate in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was pushing myself forward down the street, taking in the sights of the town and the scenery before I saw a lone person sitting on the steps of an abandoned market. There are a few places like that, abandoned shops that didn’t have any earthly business being in the middle of Derry. I almost never see anyone lingering around this late, though. The pushes I was providing slowed down; I was curious to see who was sitting on the presumably cold steps. Maybe it was a drifter, someone dangerous, and I’d fall victim to serial murder. The wheels were slowing and my heart was pounding as I passed in silence and- oh. It was Eddie. That killed the suspense. I popped my board up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie?” I asked, true confusion painted across my face and in my voice. What the hell was he doing out here this late on a school night? That wasn’t like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s there?” He chuckled, unable to see me from the lack of lights casted in my direction. I stepped closer into the light, revealing my identity. He looked up instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing out here this late, Eds?” After calling him an unofficial nickname that I used to call him nearly everyday. I stepped closer to him, confused and concerned. His eyes were glazed over and bloodshot, but it didn’t look like he had been crying. “Oh my god, Eddie. Are you high?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started laughing slightly under his breath before responding. “Yeah, a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who gave you weed?” Not only did I slightly want some, I was genuinely curious as to where Eddie Kaspbrak got marijuana. Never in a million years would I guess that Eddie would be under the influence of anything. Especially weed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bev Marsh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes sense. Bev Marsh was one of the only people in Derry who didn’t suck. I’ll have to make a note to myself to buy some weed off her next time I talk to her. We get along pretty well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing out so late? Isn’t your mom worried about you?” I asked in honesty. I only assumed that his mom still kept him on a short leash. It’s weird talking to someone you used to be close with because you remember all those personal things about them. You know that they have probably changed since you last talked, but you still know the small details about what gives them individuality</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” that fact seemed to dawn on him and he threw his head into his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, I’ll make sure you get home. Get up off the stairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up slowly and seemed hesitant; as if he didn’t trust me and was about to walk into territory he’s never experienced before. I don’t see why he wouldn’t be comfortable around me. We were once really close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk home started off silent. The weather was cold and the silence between us was uncomfortable. I tightened the grip on my deck and started to think of ways to break the silence. Talking was better than silence. Or at least, I thought it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Eddie Kaspbrak is a little stoner now, I see how it is,” I told him, laughing slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t make it a regular habit,” Eddie responded, clearly disinterested in conversation. That was alright. I could be silent. I could play his game. I can give him the silent treatment, I promise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s exactly what someone with a habit of smoking weed would say,” I blurted out, almost immediately breaking my promise. I just couldn’t help myself. Staying quiet with another person around was a real challenge for me. Eddie had nothing to say about that and just kept his eyes on the road, walking closer into the more suburban area of Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you get a skateboard?” He eventually piped up, hands tucked away into his denim pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two weeks ago. I’ve always wanted one,” I told him. But, he already knew that. I don’t know how many times I told him I wanted a skateboard as a kid. Since we haven’t spoken in awhile I just felt the need to tell him in case he forgot. It’s possible he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know those things are dangerous, right?” He retaliated in the way Eddie always did. In that second, it felt like we were young again, arguing over trivial things. But it wasn’t trivial to us. It was a friendly rivalry that challenged us in the best way. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it sometimes. Especially if the fact that you aren’t friends is staring you right in the face and there’s no way to avoid the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I liked to live on the edge. But, I will admit that I do most of my living at your moms house,” I tested out a joke that I wasn’t sure was still appropriate considering the fact that we aren’t exactly close anymore. Oh well. He laughed at it, but shook his head. I see he still gets annoyed at the little things I say. I wonder how much he’s changed since we last had a proper conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the walk home was mostly stiff. Discussion about where we want to go after high school ends, how classes are going. Typical small talk. The kind of conversation you make with someone who your parents are friends with, and they’re just attempting to be amicable. It felt slightly disappointing, realizing that someone you had once been so close with was now worth nothing more than small talk. Hell, I’d even say it hurt. </span>
</p>
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